vally

Omni-Man was different. He didn't ask at all.

You first noticed him watching during a cleanup after a Mauler Twins rampage downtown. The twins had leveled half a block; you were on your knees in the rubble, palms pressed to a firefighter's crushed leg, channeling the warm golden flow that knit bone and tissue while the man gasped through the pain. When you looked up, Omni-Man hovered fifty feet overhead—arms crossed, cape barely stirring in the wind—blue eyes fixed on you like you were a specimen under glass. No nod. No wave. Just observation. Then he was gone, a white streak vanishing into the clouds.

It happened twice more over the next week. Always at a distance. Always silent. He never intervened, never spoke. Just watched. Analyzed.

You told yourself it was professional curiosity. Earth's strongest hero evaluating a new asset. Nothing personal.

Then came the night it changed.

Late October. Rain hammered the city, turning streets into black mirrors. You'd just finished stabilizing a collapsed construction worker after a villain-caused crane failure—boost lingering in the man's system, letting him walk out under his own power instead of on a stretcher. You were soaked, exhausted, heading back to your high-rise when your phone buzzed. Unknown number. Encrypted line. Guardians' secure channel, but no ID tag.

A single message:

Balcony. Now. —O

You stared at the screen for ten seconds before pocketing it. Heart rate elevated, but steady. You flew up—your own modest flight capability carrying you to the thirtieth floor—and landed lightly on the wet concrete. The sliding door was already open a crack, rain pooling just inside the threshold.

The rain kept pounding the windows like it wanted in, but inside your apartment the air had turned thick, warm, electric. Omni-Man—Nolan—stood in the middle of your living room, suit still on, cape dripping a slow circle onto the hardwood. He hadn’t moved since he sent the message. Hadn’t spoken since you landed on the balcony and shut the door behind you.

You watched the way his shoulders rose and fell—once, twice—deeper than his usual measured breathing. The blue eyes that usually cut through chaos like laser sights were fixed on the floor between you. Not avoiding. Waiting. There was the faintest flush creeping up the side of his neck, disappearing under the high collar of his suit.

“I’ve run the numbers,” he said at last. Voice low. Rougher at the edges than the newsreels ever captured. “Every documented case. Every after-action note the Guardians bothered to file. Your ability isn’t just healing. It’s… amplification. Temporary, but real.” He finally lifted his gaze. “I need to know how real. At my level.”

You stepped closer. Close enough to smell rain and ozone and the clean, metallic warmth that always clung to him after flight. “You’re asking me to fuck you so you can collect data.”

His jaw flexed. A muscle ticked under the skin. “I’m asking you to test a hypothesis.” But the words came out quieter than he probably intended. And when you didn’t answer right away, he added—almost under his breath—“Please.”

That one word hit harder than any command he’d ever barked on a battlefield.

You reached up, hooked two fingers under the cape clasp at his throat. Metal clicked. Heavy white fabric slid off his shoulders and pooled behind him like spilled milk. He didn’t stop you. Just watched your hands move to the hidden seam along his chest, peeling the suit open inch by inch.

Pale skin. Dense slabs of pectoral. Ridged abdomen that flexed involuntarily when your knuckles grazed the centerline. You pushed the top half down to his waist, baring him to the sternum. His nipples were already peaked—hard little points from cold air or nerves or both. When you dragged a thumb over one he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Sensitive?” you murmured.

He didn’t answer. Just swallowed hard enough that you saw his throat work.

You tugged the rest of the suit lower. The material clung for a second—Viltrumite weave reluctant to release—then gave way. Thick thighs. Heavy cock springing free, already more than half-hard, flushed darker than the rest of him. The head glistened. He was leaking.

You sank to one knee to shove the suit the rest of the way off. When you looked up his face was flushed—cheeks, ears, the tips of his ears—and his hands were curled into loose fists at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet.

“Bedroom,” you said, standing.

He followed without a word. Big bare feet silent on the floor. When you reached the foot of the bed you turned, caught him by the hips, and pushed. Not hard. Just enough. He went willingly—dropped to his knees on the mattress, then forward onto his forearms. Ass up. Back dipped. The most powerful being on the planet presenting himself like he’d rehearsed it.

You stripped fast. Climbed up behind him. One hand smoothed down the long line of his spine—feeling every vertebra, every tremor he couldn’t quite hide. The other wrapped around his cock from below. He jolted. A low, broken sound slipped out of him—half growl, half whimper.

“Fuck—” The curse was soft. Shocked. Like he hadn’t expected his own voice to crack.

You stroked him once—slow, firm—from root to tip. Pre-cum smeared over your palm. He pushed back instinctively, hips rolling, trying to chase the friction.

“Easy,” you said, pressing the head of your cock against him. No resistance at the rim—he was already slick there, body betraying him faster than his stoic mask ever would. You pushed in slow.

The first inch made his shoulders lock. A shudder ran through him head to toe.

“Oh—shit—” His voice broke on the word. Not the commanding baritone of Omni-Man. Something rawer. Younger. Flustered.

You kept going. Steady. Watching the way his hole stretched around you—pink rim clinging, fluttering. When you bottomed out he dropped his head between his arms and moaned—long, low, trembling at the end like he couldn’t believe the sound came from his own throat.

“You okay?” you asked, holding still.

He laughed once—short, breathless, embarrassed. “I’m—fine. Just—” Another roll of his hips, grinding back, taking you deeper on his own. “Fuck. Move. Please.”

You did.

Slow at first—long drags out, slow rolls in. Each thrust pulled another sound from him: soft gasps, bitten-off curses, little punched-out moans every time you grazed that spot inside. His cock swung heavy beneath him, dripping steadily onto the sheets. You reached around again, wrapped your hand around him. He bucked hard.

“Nnngh—wait—too much—” But he didn’t pull away. Just panted against the pillow, face half-buried, cheeks scarlet where you could see them.

You started to move faster. Deeper. The bed creaked under the force. His moans turned ragged—open-mouthed, helpless.

“Harder,” he gasped. “I need—fuck—I need to feel it. All of it.”

You gripped his hips—hard enough to leave fleeting red marks that vanished almost instantly—and slammed forward. Skin slapped skin. His whole body rocked with each thrust. He clawed at the sheets, knuckles white.

“There—there—right—ah—!” His voice pitched up, cracked. A full-body shudder. “Don’t—don’t stop—please—”

You poured the power into him then. Golden heat surging through your cock, flooding his bloodstream. His back bowed sharply. A loud, broken moan tore out of him—raw, unrestrained.

“Fuck—yes—yes—fuck—” Words dissolved into panting, whining. His hole clenched rhythmically, milking you. His cock throbbed in your hand, leaking so much the sheets were soaked beneath him.

You leaned over his back, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re loud tonight.”

He whined—actually whined—and shoved back harder, chasing every inch. “Can’t—can’t help it—feels—too good—too much—”

You fucked him through it—relentless, deep, pouring more power with every stroke. His strength was climbing; you could feel it in the way the mattress frame groaned, the way his thighs trembled not from strain but from overload. He was babbling now—half-formed pleas, curses, your name.

When he came it hit like a shockwave. Back arching so hard his shoulders nearly touched his ass. Cock pulsing in your fist, shooting thick ropes across the bed, splattering his own abs. His hole clamped down in violent spasms, dragging you over the edge with him. You buried deep and spilled—hot, endless—pushing one final golden surge that made his whole body light up, faint shimmer under the skin.

He collapsed forward—face-first into the pillow—gasping, shaking. You followed him down, still inside, chest pressed to his sweat-slick back.

Long minutes of just breathing. His heartbeat thundered under your palm.

Eventually he turned his head, cheek still pressed to the damp fabric. Eyes glassy. Cheeks flushed dark. Voice wrecked.

“…That,” he rasped, “was not in the projections.”

You huffed a laugh against his shoulder. Kissed the nape of his neck.

He shivered again—smaller this time. Almost shy.

“Tomorrow,” he mumbled. “We… need to test duration. Cumulative effect.” A pause. Softer. “And maybe… slower. Just to—compare data.”

You smiled into his skin. “Whatever you need, Nolan.”

He didn’t correct the name.

Just closed his eyes, still flushed, still trembling faintly, and let out one last shaky breath.

“…Yeah. Whatever I need.”

He responds with a hum, lips brushing against the hollow of your temple and you're trying to wriggle free. But it's damn near impossible.

His bicep bulges, and Nolan's free hand continues to push at the buttons of the remote, your search history displayed on a 70 inch screen.

"Baby, no. This is—" You're interrupted when Nolan tuts you, the corners of his brilliant blue eyes crinkling with amusement at the way your cheeks begin to flush.

"I wanna know what kind of things you're into, sweetheart." He coos, before clearing his throat.

"Okay, first one, 'how to fold an origami chihuahua'." Nolan snorts. "Did you learn how to do it?"

He glances down at you, your lips pursed before you nod your head. Almost reluctantly and he hums, a low rumble of approvement in his broad, burly chest.

"My nimble fingered girl."

And he diverts his attention back to the screen. You're not even sure what to be more embarassed about.

Your trips to Oxford dictionary, your dawdling spent on Urban Dictionary or the stupid things you look up for on WikiHow.

"Ohhh... A Cosmo article." Nolan hums. "You wanna learn how to squirt?"

And your cheeks flare up, and you try to slide lower, but he's got one of those stupidly muscular arms tucked beneath your arms, and he's keeping you anchored.

"You know, everytime you come close, you start crying and make me feel bad." Nolan hums, mocking you and you let out a disgruntled whine.

"Literally, what's the point of you doing this?" You complain. "It's embarassing."

"Is it so wrong of me to wanna learn about my wife and her interests?" Nolan huffs, almost dramatic as he stares down at you, inky moustache raising with his grin as he spots the way your eyes narrow.

"Especially since, you know, I'm never really at home and you feel all," he lets out a heavy sigh, "neglected and all."

And your eyes widen.

"Were— were you eavesdropping on my conversation?" You question, brows scrunching into a frown and Nolan leans down, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head once again.

"Focus on the part that I'm improving my schedule." Nolan chides you gently and he gently uses the hand that's not wrapped around you, to guide your face back towards the TV.

You'd complain and gripe, if you weren't so acutely intune to the way he touches you. Almost reverently.

His hand splayed across the expanse of your belly, his thumb swiping gently at the soft skin just below your breast, tracing the flesh through the fabric of your nightie. And he's just so warm and burly. It feels like you're curled up against a furnace and you're not even mad about that.

"You looked at our house eighteen times on Google Earth."

The laughter in his voice isn't hidden, dimples appearing in his sculpted cheeks and full, dark brows raise in surprise at your next search.

"Omni-Man... Up cape?" He reads, mulling the words over before letting out a breath. "You are shameless."

"I'm plenty ashamed now." You argue and he snorts.

"You weren't ashamed when you were trying to find pictures of my ass on the internet."

The glow of the TV is the only light in the room, the door shut and the light of the ensuite is dimmed, the door slightly ajar. The covers are heavy, weighted blankets that make you feel just a bit more secure in Nolan's arms and his head dips occasionally, pressing ticklish kisses to the curve of your neck.

And he hums. Low and rumbly.

"What's this?" He muses, before scrolling further.

"You watch a lot of porn." He comments. "Like... A lot."

"I'm very particular." You defend, eyes downcast to where his muscular thighs press against yours on either side, bracketing you against his body and your chest heaves as you let out a breath.

"I'll bet." He mumbles. "Guess that's why you went to page 113."

And you press your face against Nolan's bicep, your cheeks burning and your ears tinge red when the screen goes down, a little arrow forming a circle appears for a brief moment before one of the videos show.

Showcasing the exact timestamp where you stopped.

"Hm..." He hums softly. "S'that where you came?"

His voice is so quiet, a husky sound that sends chills up your spine and you weakly nod your head, peeking at the screen and you're watching a girl get her back blown out. Eyes shut, brows furrowed and mouth parted to let out pitchy moans that seemed a bit too loud for your comfort right now.

Especially since it's on a huge ass TV.

Nolan's hand moves between your thighs and you open them willingly, shifting your legs until they're spread salaciously, suspended over his own, thickly corded legs. And he lets out an amused huff of laughter, fingers sliding over the swell of your folds, pressed so snugly against the cotton of your panties. You bite your bottom lip, tilting your head back enough to peer at Nolan through your lashes.

"Keep your eyes on the screen." He instructs you so gently, guiding your head back to focus on the screen of the TV, and he hums softly, dragging a calloused digit along your soaked gusset, tracing your slit. He narrowly dips his fingers into you, just to feel the way your panties cling to your slick, before they move back into place.

Before you breath can stutter, Nolan's ripping your panties at the sides with ease, pulling the fabric out from beneath you and discarding it to God knows where.

And he glances back towards the screen. Tight circles being rubbed around your clit, his blunt digit nestled between velvety folds and he listens to the way your heart pounds in your chest. Breathy sighs slipping past your lips and your brows scrunch in that way that makes his heart sputter just a bit, and he brushes his tongue along his bottom lip.

"That's it..." He whispers softly. "Just keep watching TV."

You keep your eyes glued on the screen. Not because you necessarily want to, but because you know Nolan's spiteful enough to pull away and ruin the orgasm that's creeping up your legs in that steady rhythm.

And you swallow.

"Does it feel good?" He coos softly and you nod weakly, muttering the sweetest 'uh-huh' as your eyes don't even move from the TV screen, lashes fluttering and cheeks flushing.

You look like the cutest thing right now.

A little doll in his lap.

You're just so pretty. Big, blown out eyes, plump lips that are parted to let out the sluttiest sighs and he feels the way your clit throbs beneath the pressure of his finger.

"You almost there, sweet girl?" He hums softly and you nod your head.

Biting down on your bottom lip and your brows scrunch.

Your belly dips inward and that tightly wound cord in your belly snaps.

You're coming at the soft, gentle stimulation so easily, your toes curling against the sheets and your legs attempting to close but his infallible thighs keep them from doing so.

Slick coats Nolan's fingers but he's not really paying too much attention to that, focused more on the way you shift and wriggle in his grasp, and the arm around you tightens it's grip.

One meaty finger pushes into your cunt, the squelch is lewd and your lips are parting in an 'o' shape that makes him dizzy.

Your head lolls and you feel like a whore when drool trickles down your bottom lip, swiped away by Nolan's thumb as his finger curls, pressing against that sweet, spongy spot that makes your vision dot.

Nolan feels the way your nails dig into his forearm, watches the way your brows knit and his head dips, tongue dragging along your pulse. Lingering just long enough to feel the thrumming hidden beneath the curve of your jaw, and he laps up the perspiration speckled across your skin.

"You gonna start clearing your cookies, sweetheart?" He teases you, slowly pushing another thick finger into your drooling pussy and your eyes nearly cross, head tipping back and you can feel the way your brain melts with each pump of his thick fingers.

You feel each callous, each knuckle, you feel the cool band of his wedding ring kissing your plump pussy with each pump.

And you nod weakly.

"Uh huh..." You're lying.

You both know you are and a large, powerful hand grasps your jaw, tilting your head to meet his gaze and Nolan presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is desperate, needy, his tongue dragging against yours, claiming each inch of your soft mouth, your lips slick with your drool and he swallows each of your moans. Each whine you let into his mouth, is an unforgiving thrust of his fingers.

When you're coming around his fingers, you melt into a pliable puddle in his grasp, and you feel the way he presses kisses to the side of your face, gently bringing you down from your high. He pushes your cum back into you, slick fingers dragging against your walls and he lets out a soft breath.

Handing you the remote.

"Pick the next video."